Edwin Edwards stands at the end of his short driveway in Gonzales, a black suit jacket slung over his left shoulder. The sun is beginning to set and the warm orange glow bathes the neighborhood. Edwards' hand-picked biographer, Leo Honeycutt, pulls his white Chevy Tahoe into the drive as Edwards traces the steps back toward the house.

I step out of the car, wearing a navy dress in preparation for the Assumption Area Chamber of Commerce banquet the three of us are to attend Thursday night, and to which I only secured an invitation after weeks of badgering Honeycutt. Edwards is the keynote speaker.

"It's a pleasure to meet you," I say to the former Louisiana state governor.

Edwards and Honeycutt pile seven or eight boxes of hardback books into the trunk of the Tahoe, the biographies all emblazoned with Edwards' name in gold and a much younger version of his face. Honeycutt's name is tucked in at the bottom.

Edwards slips the jacket over his shoulders, the alligator leather on his suspenders glinting for a moment in the fading light.

In a state like ours, we get used to having colorful people, so when someone manages to rise above the rest and really let their freak flag fly, you know you're in for a good time. Former Louisiana Gov. Edwin Edwards, a polarizing figure thanks as much to his policies as his questionable dealings that helped solidify the state’s reputation for corruption, is practically head of the color guard.

Edwards learned Wednesday that a federal judge cut his probation short, which means at long last he's truly a free man. Edwards enjoys a gamble every now and again, but he seems to be defying the odds. With a baby on the way, an agenda full of speaking engagements and social events, plus a reality TV show in the works, the former governor isn't letting anything catch up to him, even at 85 years of age.

We're making the drive to Napoleonville, passing rows and rows of crops just off the highway, the strips of water from weeks of recent rainfall reflecting the sky.

"It was well-planned by his widow," Edwards said. "There are no nice funerals … at my age, I guess it's not surprising."

He mentions others — five friends and the brother of his first wife, Elaine — who have also died recently. I ask how that makes him feel.

"Relieved," he says. "It's much better to talk about dead people than to have them talking about you."

The Tahoe eventually pulls in to the Napoleonville Community Center, so new it hasn't yet had its grand opening ceremony, Terri Maggio, director of the Assumption Parish Library, tells me.

It's not long after Edwards slides out of the car that he's being approached by well-wishers and admirers.

"I just keep telling my friends, you're just living life. You're just living life," Assumption resident Donna Mullings says to Edwards.

"I'm not gonna give up 'til they come get me," he quips back.

The community center tables are full — 317 tickets sold this year, Maggio says, more than they've ever had — and Edwards' view from the head table is consistently clouded by admirers, snapping a photo or asking for a signature in their copy of the biography.

The Assumption Chamber of Commerce outgoing chairman Howell Chiasson calls the banquet to order, and this year's teenager and business of the year are recognized. With the business out of the way, Edwards takes the podium.

“Since I got out of prison, I've been to about 32 functions such as this. I was born … in 1927. I wish everybody in the world could have as long, as pleasant and as pain-free a life as I have," Edwards, and the laughter, begins. Ever the entertainer, he launches into his 30 minute speech.

"When I was 9 years old … I got my first federal job. I was a water boy. … I would pull that bucket from out of an open barrel and walk down a line of 200 men, who would drink out of the same bucket, the same dipper. … I was paid 9 cents an hour," Edwards explains. "As fate would have it, 66 years later, I got my second federal job. That was in a little Louisiana town called Oakdale. I was the prison librarian. I was being paid 22 cents an hour, so things were getting better."

"He's still got it," someone at our table whispers.

Born the son of a sharecropper, Edwards began his political career in Crowley as a city council member in 1954. He served a brief term in the state Senate before moving on to a seat in the U.S. House of Representatives in 1965.

Edwards always had his sights set on the governorship, however, and landed there in 1972. He won re-election in 1975. For most others, that would be the end of that, but Edwards came back to win an unprecedented third and fourth terms.

Known for his quick wit and one-liners, Edwards famously said he couldn't lose the 1983 election unless "I'm caught in bed with a dead girl or a live boy."

In his time as governor, Edwards called for a new state Constitution, and convinced legislators to re-evaluate the way oil and gas production is taxed, increasing collection from 25 cents per barrel to 12.5 percent in value.

But Edwards' time as governor wasn't without scandal. His years were marked by consistent corruption rumors, with more than a dozen federal investigations.

Finally, in 2001, Edwards was convicted of extorting nearly $3 million from riverboat casino companies. He served eight years in prison, followed by another six months in home detention. His three-year probation ended Wednesday.

"Every night, I said to myself, 'I wonder what it will be like when I get out?' … The way you folks have treated me, and your forgiveness and the understanding and the compassion you've shown me as made it all worthwhile," Edwards said, "I never forgot you, and I learned when I got out, you never forgot me. Thank you."

Honeycutt and Edwards stay to sign books, taking pictures as Assumption Parish residents throw an arm around the former governor.

Edwards might need you to spell your name a little louder, but he can still read your business card without glasses.

"He's still got it," I hear from someone in the crowd.

The drive home is anything but quiet as Edwards tells us how he'd do things differently, how the state, the country would look different.

"I can't understand that crazy (Bobby) Jindal," he says, referring to a part in his speech where he criticized the current governor's plan to eliminate the income tax and increase state sales taxes. "Let's be like Texas and Florida. Instead of the state paying for people to go to colleges and schools, instead of the state maintaining a hospital system, let the local people pay for it. He doesn't talk about it. But that's the way it is."

He gets quiet for a few seconds.

"What'd we sell, three boxes?"

"Yes, sir," Honeycutt replies.

"He's too inconsistent," Edwards says, turning the conversation back toward Jindal and his chances at becoming president. "The tea party people are on the way out. You can't have a person running for president who performed an exorcism. And he was running around telling people Mitt Romney was (great), Then he (changes his mind) after the election."

Jindal’s gubernatorial conduct has clearly left an impression on Edwards. His “exorcism” commentary refers to an oft-cited 1994 article Jindal wrote about the “physical dimensions of spiritual warfare.”

Edwards is interrupted by the blinking lights and UFO-sounds coming from his phone. Trina is calling as Honeycutt steers the car through the offramp of the Sunshine Bridge.

"Yes, thank you. We're on the way back now. See you in about 20 minutes."

He hangs up, and taps me on the shoulder.

"Now you know you can't come back in the house with me. I'll get in trouble," he jokes. "Though if I'm going to lose my wife, I hope it'd be over someone like you."

I chide him, "you're more likely to get me in trouble."

We pull back into Edwards' short driveway in Gonzales and climb out of the car. He shakes my hand again, firmly, looking me straight in the eye.

"It was a pleasure to meet you."

Edwards walks toward the house. Trina has accidentally locked him out, so the former Louisiana state governor disappears into the shadows toward another door.

Honeycutt and I climb back into the Tahoe. He smiles, shakes his head.